Poetry · Writing


Middle of death and life sits me. Wondering through open doors wishing they were closed and falling into a routine of pointlessness.

Than cue the purpose. The X to my Y. Pointless converts into a dream, a dream of white fences and Sunday crosswords, lazy Sunday with a dog named Buster and watching Friends reruns. Only if this dream is a dream for two.

Walking the cold night, looking into the moon’s eyes and begging for guidance. Impossible to find something that you’ve already found and lost.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s